


Genesis

by molly2012



Category: NCIS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-11 15:40:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/molly2012/pseuds/molly2012
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>NCIS Special Agent Gibbs is sent to Israel for a week as part of a joint training exercise. Whilst there he is partnered with Mossad Officer Ziva David. Those seven days will change his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with NCIS. As usual.

Gibbs looked around the small room, taking in his surroundings. It was basic, functional, like a bare classroom or an exceptionally bland conference room. The early morning sunshine streamed in through the window, casting its rays over the cheap tables and hard chairs; it was the only thing that told him he was no longer in Washington, but five thousand miles away on the navy base at Haifa, Israel. He had been instructed to report here at zero-seven hundred, and presumably the nine others in the room had received the same order. He did not yet know who they were or which particular agency they were from, but at least four of them must have been Israeli. They were the only ones not sweating. For the third time already that morning, Gibbs wiped his forehead with his hand, and in turn wiped his hand on the hem of his t-shirt. If this was October, he was damn glad this training exercise hadn’t been scheduled for August. 

He turned as the door to the room opened, and two men walked in. NCIS Director Morrow led the way to the front of the room, but the second man was someone that Gibbs recognised only from official photographs. He studied the Deputy Director of Mossad as he began to address the agents gathered in the room. 

‘For those of you who have travelled here from abroad, welcome to Israel. For the rest of you, welcome to Haifa’. 

The accent was thick, the voice deep and gravelly, and the smile that accompanied his words did not quite meet his eyes.

‘You all know why you are here, but I will recap for the benefit of any among you who may be jetlagged or….’ He looked pointedly at one unshaven Israeli at the back of the room. ‘Otherwise not feeling your best’. 

Gibbs was beginning to feel like he was back in school. 

‘You are here to run through training exercises and strategy for a co-ordinated response in the event of an attack on the United States Sixth Fleet while docked at Haifa’. Eli David paused, his eyes running over the agents in the room. 

‘Between you, you represent the major agencies who would possibly be involved in such a response. NCIS. Mossad. Shin Bet. CIA. Interpol’. 

Gibbs’ mind drifted back to the September morning when the NCIS Director had told him he would be flying to Israel for a week to take part in the exercises as the NCIS representative. He distinctly remembered saying no. And yet here he was anyway. Unfortunately, no major case had turned up to keep him in DC, and he had no other excuse apart from the fact that he considered it a waste of his time. They were hardly likely to call him in the event of a real attack, and he hated the bureaucracy and the tick-box nature of it all. And the heat was killing him already. 

He had considered just not turning up, but Morrow had insisted on sending a car to take him to the airport since they had, of course, been booked on the same flight. Gibbs had avoided any awkward conversation by sleeping most of the way – or at least pretending to sleep. He did not dislike the Director, but most of the time did not understand or agree with his decisions and the Director was well aware of the fact. Gibbs suspected it would have made for some uncomfortable silences, and at thirty thousand feet there was nowhere to escape to. 

He reluctantly switched his attention back to the present as Eli David continued speaking. 

‘You will be paired up, each pair taking on a different set of scenarios and responses during the week that you are here. You will write a report on each, to be circulated among your colleagues here and at home. That way everyone should know what they are doing’. 

He certainly had a commanding presence. A man to be respected, certainly, although Gibbs suspected that he would prefer to be respected and feared rather than respected and liked. His gut was telling him that he would neither like nor fear the man, but it was hardly likely to be a problem. He doubted he would ever see Eli David again after today. He wiped his forehead again, and tried to concentrate as the NCIS Director took over. 

‘Today you will familiarise yourselves with the layout of the area. You may have met each other before, if not then get to know your partner a bit. You’ll be working closely with each other for the next six days. The exercises will begin tomorrow, but not all of you will be involved in every one. It depends on what your area of expertise is and what role your agency would play in the event of a real attack. So it’s a pretty cushy week for most of you. Having said that, we need this to be taken seriously. That clear?’

They all nodded, and Gibbs saw the unshaven Israeli at the back of the room stifle a yawn. He hoped he was not the Mossad agent he had been told would be his training partner for the week. He knew that when the Director had said it was going to be an easy few days for most of them, he did not mean Gibbs. NCIS and Mossad would be the two agencies to respond first after an incident, and Gibbs suspected that the other agencies had only been invited along out of an unusual sense of political politeness. Despite that, he did not really listen for the rest of the briefing. He had heard all the crap about inter-agency co-operation before, and besides, he was beginning to need coffee. Badly. 

As the two Directors finally left the room, he was one of the first to stand up from his seat and follow them. Trying to slip past without Morrow seeing him, however, did not go to plan. The NCIS Director spied Gibbs out of the corner of his eye, held up one hand to Eli David to halt their conversation and gave Gibbs a sharp look. 

‘Agent Gibbs?’

Gibbs suppressed a sigh. 

‘Director?’

‘You did hear what I said about taking this seriously?’

Gibbs felt the Mossad Director’s eyes on him as he answered. 

‘Just going to get coffee’. 

Morrow frowned. 

‘That’s not what I asked’. 

Gibbs turned to head towards the vending and coffee machines at the bottom of the hallway. 

‘Taking it seriously, Director’. 

He did not wait to be dismissed, but walked impatiently away as Morrow turned in the opposite direction with Eli David. The other agents were now spilling out into the hallway, and he knew that at some point he would have to collect his folder from the port office and find his training partner. But that could wait until after coffee. 

As he reached the machine, he scowled. It was all in Hebrew. He swore under his breath as he realised he couldn’t tell black coffee from hot chocolate, and he certainly couldn’t decipher how much money to put in. He looked around, wondering if there was such a thing as a canteen, when he heard a voice behind him. 

‘I can translate if you would like’. 

Gibbs turned round to come face to face with a young woman that he had seen standing in the back corner of the briefing room. His first thought, which he quickly pushed away, was that she was just as stunning close to as she had been from the other side of the room. His second was that she could not have been more than twenty-three or four. Young for a Mossad agent but, judging by the Israeli accent and the way she had sneaked up behind him without him noticing, that was what she had to be. 

‘But I would not call that coffee anyway’.

‘You have an alternative?’

She nodded, looking him up and down, sizing him up. 

‘There is a good coffee house just along the seafront. They serve breakfast as well. We can do the preparatory work for the exercises later’. 

Gibbs made a point of returning her measured stare before replying.

‘I don’t go for coffee with just anyone’. 

She laughed. It was a deep, throaty laugh, and Gibbs felt something stir in his stomach. 

‘I have heard that about Americans. Especially the military. You take your caffeine very seriously’. 

She paused before stretching out her hand. 

‘Ziva David. Your training partner and babysitter for the week’. 

‘Babysitter?’

She nodded, her hand still outstretched. ‘It seems you will even have to trust me to buy your coffee’.

Gibbs hated to admit it, but she was right. He somewhat reluctantly shook her hand. 

‘Gibbs’. 

‘I know. Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs – but you are right, Gibbs is easier’. 

He scowled again. He couldn’t work out if she was naturally cheeky or if she was flirting with him, but put the question to the back of his mind as he realised what she had said a moment ago. 

‘Your name’s David?’

He could almost see the bristles rise, and that, more than anything, answered the part of the question that he had left unsaid. 

‘It is a common name in Israel’. Her tone became curt, clipped. 

Great. Just great. He wondered if Morrow had known beforehand that he would be paired with Eli David’s daughter, and made a mental note to find out. There would be hell to pay if he had. 

Ziva turned abruptly and walked back down the corridor towards the exit, leaving him standing by the machine. He shrugged to himself. Daddy’s girl out to prove herself…..She’d get over it. He pulled some change out of his pocket and was about to take his chances when she turned back and called to him impatiently. 

‘Do you want coffee or not?’

Gibbs deliberately hesitated just long enough for her to notice, before pocketing the change again and following her out into the bright sunshine. He had a feeling it was going to be a long week. 

******************************************************************************************************************************************************

 

‘Todah’. 

Ziva turned from the counter and gestured to a seat over by the window. 

‘He will bring the coffees over’.

Gibbs nodded, and made his way over to the table. They had walked here in almost silence, and he suspected that Ziva, like himself, was not really one for small talk – even if she had not still been prickly from his question about her family connections. 

‘What did you get?’

She hadn’t bothered to ask him what he wanted, and had placed the order in rapid Hebrew before he could tell her that he took his coffee strong and black, no sugar. 

She sat down opposite him, her long brown ponytail catching the sunlight as she pushed it impatiently back over her shoulder. 

‘For you? Black, extra strong, no sugar’. 

He raised his eyebrows and Ziva smiled. 

‘I assumed that you would not want a latte with chocolate sprinkles and vanilla syrup’. 

‘That what you’ve got, Officer David?’

Ziva shuddered, but before she could answer the man behind the counter was beside their table, bearing aloft a tray with two large mugs, a small but heavy-looking teapot and two plates filled with bread, white cheese and olives. 

Gibbs watched as he placed one of the mugs and the pot down in front of Ziva.

‘Tea?’

She nodded, a look of satisfaction on her face. 

‘Strong, black, no sugar’. 

‘Hmm. What’s this?’ He indicated one of the plates. 

‘Breakfast. I have not eaten yet’.

He noticed that she had not asked him about that either, but decided to let it slide. He had to work with her, after all. Besides, he was hungry.

‘And call me Ziva’. 

‘OK. Ziva’. Gibbs took a mouthful of coffee. ‘You have any idea what we’re doing this week?’

Ziva shook her head, but it was a moment before she answered. Breakfast, it seemed, took priority. 

‘No. I do not know any more than you’. 

She gave him a sharp look as she speared an olive and popped it into her mouth. Gibbs tried not to watch too closely. 

‘My father is not given to favouritism. I am treated the same as everyone else’. She paused. ‘And like you, I would rather not be here. But….’ She shrugged. ‘I follow orders’. 

‘You been in Mossad long?’

‘Long enough’. Ziva took another mouthful of tea. ‘Is this an interrogation, Gibbs?’

‘Just asking’.

Ziva nodded, a hint of amusement in her brown eyes. Gibbs wondered precisely when he had noticed her eyes were brown, and then reminded himself that he was an investigator. He was trained to notice. 

Ziva seemed to relent somewhat.

‘I served in the IDF for two years. That is compulsory. And then I joined the Mossad. That was voluntary’. 

He noticed the stress she put on the last word, and raised his eyebrows. 

‘Didn’t know joining Mossad could be anything else’. 

‘It cannot’. 

Gibbs nodded, and they ate in silence for a while. He didn’t feel like trying to question her further– it was too hot, anyway. Finally, when Ziva had pushed her plate away and drunk the last of her tea, she lenaed back in her chair and studied him for a moment. He was aware of her gaze as he finished his coffee, but it was not uncomfortable. 

‘So you are an ex-marine, Gibbs?’

‘No such thing’. 

He caught her look, and shrugged, a half-smile crossing his face. 

‘Yeah. Ex-Marine. Sniper. But you knew that’.

She nodded and smirked.

‘Just trying out some small talk. But since you have now finished your coffee, I will not bother with any more’.

She pushed back her chair, and waved impatiently as he reached into his pocket. He tried not to stare as he watched her walk back over to the counter, seeing for the first time her curves under her t-shirt and cargo pants, and the way she moved gracefully, almost like a dancer, as she reached across to take her change. 

Gibbs gave himself a mental headslap, and sighed quietly as he stood up to join her. He would have to get his act together, or it really was going to be one hell of a week. 

Maybe it was the heat.


	2. The Second Day

‘Hey!’

 

Director Morrow turned, eyebrows raised, his expression clearly displaying his annoyance at being addressed in such a manner. Gibbs however, had not forgotten who he was speaking to, nor was he being deliberately antagonistic. He was just past caring, and the folder that he held in his hands had been the last straw.

 

‘Can I help you, Agent Gibbs?’

 

‘I’ve been brought to Israel for this?’ Gibbs waved the folder at the Director. ‘Classroom exercises on intelligence gathering and interrogation?’

 

For a moment, the two men stood in the corridor glaring at each other. Gibbs felt the sweat on the back of his neck prickle at his skin, and wished for the hundredth time that he had had the balls to say no to this trip and stick to it. His orders for today had just confirmed that the week was going to be the biggest waste of time he had ever had the misfortune to suffer through, and he intended to let the Director know that. He pushed any lingering thoughts of Ziva firmly to the back of his mind. They would only cause more trouble.

 

Morrow seemed to relent slightly, and sighed as he realised Gibbs was not going to be put off.

 

‘I appreciate that it seems a little like......well, teaching your grandmother to suck eggs’.

 

Gibbs’s eyebrows shot up at the Director’s analogy, but Morrow ploughed on.

 

‘It could be helpful. You’ll be focusing on the intelligence for a specific set of circumstances, but what you do here will be applicable back home’.

 

Gibbs resisted the urge to voice what he thought of that argument, and it was probably just as well. Most of it wasn’t repeatable.

 

Morrow sighed again.

 

‘Look, Gibbs. You’re right. This week, from your point of view, is probably a waste of time. And if there had been a case worth your while investigating in Washington, I would have let you stay.  But these things have to be done by someone, and this time it was your turn. And it keeps Mossad happy’.

 

‘That what we’re here for? Kissing Eli David’s.....?’

 

Morrow held up a hand.

 

‘Enough. At least enough in public’.

 

He lowered his hand, studying Gibbs intently, but Gibbs returned his gaze without flinching. He had never been impressed by authority. It had got him into trouble on more than one occasion.

 

‘The relationship between NCIS and Mossad is becoming more and more important’.

 

Morrow spoke slowly, deliberately, a tone of confidentiality in his low voice that Gibbs did not believe for one moment was real. But still. He waited.

 

‘This exercise – this whole week – was Mossad’s idea. A way of bringing our agencies closer together to deal with future threats more effectively. And a way of keeping an eye on each other’.

 

‘That why I got landed with his daughter?’

 

Morrow looked as if he was going to deny it, but another glare from Gibbs made him stop and think again. After a few seconds, he nodded.

 

‘Close ties. They don’t get much closer than that. So try and go along with it. You’ve got some time off later in the week, go out and enjoy yourself. Just try and play ball for once, hmm?’

 

Morrow made a show of checking his watch and headed towards the door at the end of the corridor, leaving Gibbs standing outside the briefing room. Other agents were beginning to arrive for the classroom exercises that had been scheduled, and he was about to turn and head in when he heard Morrow’s voice again.

 

‘Gibbs?’

 

He turned back to see Morrow looking serious.

 

‘I know I said close ties. But don’t get too friendly, ok?’

 

Once again, Gibbs returned his Director’s gaze, but this time he had to make a conscious effort to keep his expression neutral.

 

‘Way out of my league’.

 

‘Hmmm’. Morrow did not look convinced.

 

‘You remember that’.

 

 

Gibbs didn’t really take much notice of what was said by the various so-called experts who paraded themselves at the front of the briefing room that morning. He was an investigator. ‘Intelligence gathering’ and ‘interrogation techniques’ were just high-brow ways of describing what he did every day, and, despite Morrow’s arguments to the contrary, much of what they were talking about related specifically to the Sixth Fleet and regional threats. It wouldn’t be of any use whatsoever in Washington.

 

He found his gaze wandering more and more often over to the other side of the room, where Ziva sat in between a dour-looking Interpol officer and the unshaven Israeli – who had at least was not looking hungover this morning. She appeared to be concentrating and taking notes in scribbled Hebrew, even though all the exercises were being conducted in English. Every so often the Israeli would lean across and whisper something in her ear, making her smile quickly before turning her attention back to the task in hand, and Gibbs found himself wondering what their relationship was. Probably just colleagues, he reasoned, and then mentally gave himself a headslap for even wondering. It was no business of his.

 

And yet he had found, over the past twenty-four hours, that his natural tendency to leave well alone was being challenged by a growing fascination with the young Mossad officer, and he wasn’t sure why. Sure, she was beautiful, but Gibbs’s logical mind was arguing that he had come across lots of beautiful women before, both in the line of duty and outside the office. He also suspected that she would turn out to be very good at what she did – although he realised that he still wasn’t entirely sure exactly what that was. She had managed to avoid that question so far. But still. The same argument applied. He had seen it all before.

 

But for some reason, Ziva intrigued him.

 

* * *

 

The session ended with the promise of more fun and games after a brief lunch break, and Gibbs stood up with relief. The prospect of interrogation and possible role-plays later on was not an appealing one, and he contemplated not turning up. He also briefly wondered how easy it would be to change his flight home and escape early altogether, but the sight of Ziva standing by the door, waiting for him, stopped that thought in its tracks.

 

‘You look…..what is the expression? Pissed off’.

 

Gibbs shrugged. He noticed that the other Israeli was nowhere to be seen.

 

‘Don’t like wasting time’.

 

Ziva raised her eyebrows.

 

‘You think this is a waste of time?’

 

‘You don’t?’

 

Gibbs found it hard to believe that Ziva actually thought this was useful, and was not surprised when she laughed.

 

‘Yes’. She looked him up and down. ‘Mostly’.

 

She turned to leave the room, shouldering her backpack, and Gibbs almost asked her what she had meant by _mostly._ Fortunately, she spoke again before he could open his mouth.

 

‘We are working with Michael this afternoon’.

 

‘The other Mossad officer?’

 

Ziva nodded, and smirked at him. She had caught the tone of his voice. Evidently his attempt at not sounding too inquisitive had failed miserably.

 

‘We are colleagues. We work the same kind of missions’.

 

‘Yeah, what kind is that?’

 

Ziva pushed open the door, and blinked in the bright sunlight outside. Gibbs wasn’t sure where they were going, but he continued to walk with her as she crossed the car park towards the seafront.

 

‘Espionage. Counter-terrorism’. She shot him a sideways glance and paused by a bench that looked out over the water. ‘Assassination. When required’.

 

Gibbs nodded slowly. He had suspected that.

 

‘So, you and Michael.....?’

 

‘Rivkin’, Ziva supplied.

 

‘Hmm. You work together? I thought assassins worked alone’.

 

‘And you should know’. There was a glint in Ziva’s eyes as she sat down and looked up at him.

 

Gibbs raised his eyebrows.

 

‘Yes, we work together. And yes. We have slept together in the past’.

 

‘I didn’t ask that’.

 

‘But you wanted to, no?’

 

Ziva smiled cheekily. She knew she had made him uncomfortable, and he couldn’t deny that he had been curious. He sat down beside her as she unzipped her backpack and pulled out a bottle of water, offering it to him as she unscrewed the top. He hesitated before accepting, and took a long drink as Ziva continued talking.

 

‘It is a natural thing to happen’.

 

Gibbs swallowed. ‘What, me asking?’

 

Ziva ignored him.

 

‘When you have to trust another person with your life, it creates certain….tensions’.

 

She reached over and took the water bottle from Gibbs, and he tried not to react as her fingertips brushed his.

 

‘Have you never slept with a colleague?’

 

He watched as she took a mouthful of water, her question entirely serious.

 

‘This an appropriate conversation?’

 

Ziva shrugged. ‘Why not?’

 

Gibbs didn’t reply immediately, waiting as two men, probably American sailors, jogged past them along the path. He didn’t know how they could do it in the midday sun.

 

‘I try and avoid it’. He figured he might as well be honest. ‘Doesn’t work’.

 

He thought of his present colleagues back in DC, and suppressed a smile.

 

‘Can’t say I’m attracted to any of them anyway’.

 

‘Hmm’.

 

There was silence between them for a few moments. Sounds from the city in one direction and the port in the other carried across the still air and water, but even the distant noise of traffic and sirens sounded a bit sleepy and half-hearted in the heat. Gibbs shifted to make himself more comfortable against the slats of the bench, and realised that he was finding it quite hard to sit so close to Ziva and not touch her. It was just as well, he thought, that she had been over the other side of the room during their morning training session, and he shook his head at himself. He was starting to think like a teenager. God forbid he acted on it. She didn’t just intrigue him, but seemed to provoke a very physical response that he would have to be extremely careful to control. And despite her words – flirtatious words – earlier, he wasn’t sure that those feelings were reciprocated. He was, after all, twice her age. Or thereabouts.

 

‘We should go’. Ziva pushed the water bottle back into her bag, and looked over at Gibbs with an amused look as he sighed. She stood up, adjusting her t-shirt as she slung her backpack over her shoulder again, and waited for him to get his act together. As they walked back down the path towards the accommodation block and canteen, she gave him a sly smile.

 

‘You and Michael. It will be interesting’.

 

* * *

 

Two hours later, Gibbs had decided that ‘interesting’ was not the right word. Rivkin irritated the hell out of him, and not just because of his casual relationship with Ziva. He was arrogant. Good at his job, but well aware of the fact. He was obviously a favourite with Eli David, and a bit of a rising star, and for that reason alone Gibbs decided that he didn’t trust him. Gritting his teeth and keeping quiet seemed the most appropriate response, and he fervently hoped this would be the last he would see of him at such close quarters. Somehow, though, he doubted it. And he had a sneaking suspicion that Ziva was quite enjoying herself watching the two of them together. She seemed to be able to read his reactions like a book, no matter how well he thought he kept them hidden, and the thought made him a bit uncomfortable. He pushed it away as he tried to concentrate.

 

As the afternoon wore on, it became apparent that ‘interrogation’ meant something slightly different to the Israelis. After Rivkin had finished, even Gibbs felt slightly sorry for the Shin Bet officer who had been volunteered to act as suspect, and he could see the resignation in the man’s eyes as Ziva took Rivkin’s place. It was obvious that he thought he was in for a hammering and was dreading it, even though he was only supposed to be acting. Gibbs thought that Ziva seemed to command respect from everyone, and he was beginning to realize that it was not just because of who her father was.

 

‘She is good, yes?’

 

Gibbs didn’t look at Rivkin, standing beside him in the observation room.

 

‘Umm-hmm’.

 

She was, but he wasn’t going to say so to the Israeli.

 

‘You are lucky’.

 

Gibbs sighed and turned to the other man.

 

‘Lucky how?’

 

‘With Ziva as your partner’. Rivlin shrugged. ‘You could have ended up with Alon’.

 

Gibbs smirked despite himself. Rivkin obviously didn’t think much of the Shin Bet representative currently sat on the other side of the glass. Both men returned their attention to the mock interrogation as Ziva suddenly switched from English to Hebrew, and Rivkin laughed.

 

‘What was that?’ Gibbs thought Ziva looked pretty fierce, and wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

 

‘She asked if he would prefer heavy-duty bolt cutters or an old-fashioned meat cleaver’.

 

Gibbs raised his eyebrows, and decided he was better off not asking.

 

‘That an accepted interrogation technique here?’

 

‘It works, Agent Gibbs. And anyway, your own methods are not so….what shall we say? Soft and cuddly’.

 

There was silence for a few moments as they watched Ziva conclude, and Gibbs checked his watch. Half past four. He would be able to check in with the DC office when he finished here, just in case there was something that required his attention. As Ziva stood up and held up a hand to indicate that she had finished and the recording could stop, he noticed once more how graceful her movements were, and how slim she was. She had taken her hair down from its ponytail, and it fell loose and curly across her shoulders.

 

‘Some of us are going out for drinks tonight, Agent Gibbs, if you would like to come’.

 

Gibbs was surprised at the invitation.

 

‘Maybe’. He was non-committal. He wasn’t sure if he could get through an evening of Rivkin’s company, even if others were there. And ‘others’ would surely mean Ziva. He wasn’t sure he could survive that either.

 

‘Jet lag catching up with me’. For some reason he felt the need to explain why he probably wouldn’t go and Rivkin shrugged again.

 

‘If you change your mind….’

 

Gibbs nodded as Rivkin gave him the name of the bar.

 

‘Ziva will be disappointed though’.

 

‘What?’

 

The Israeli smirked as he picked up his things, preparing to leave.

 

‘Do not ask me why. But she seems to like you, Agent Gibbs. She would deny it, of course, but I have known her long enough to tell’.

 

Before Gibbs could ask what exactly he meant, Rivkin had gone and Ziva’s head was poking around the door to the observation room. He had not noticed her leave the interrogation.

 

‘Are you coming? We need to debrief’.

 

Gibbs nodded, and followed her out. He decided he would see how he felt later. Maybe he would be sociable and go for a drink after all. He could leave the phone call to Washington. They would let him know if they needed him.


	3. The Third Day

Gibbs stepped out of the shower and, wrapping a towel around his waist, inspected himself in the bathroom mirror. Not bad considering the early morning bedtime. His head no longer felt as fuzzy as when he had first woken, but a lingering ache behind his right eye reminded him that those last two – or possibly three – hits of bourbon had been two or three too many.

 

He padded back through to the bedroom. It was, like all military accommodation, furnished in a very basic style with a small bed, desk, chair, and a wardrobe with two drawers at the bottom. However, it was also one of the few rooms in the block that had an en-suite, and for that Gibbs was very grateful. The thought of bumping into Rivkin in the communal bathrooms made him cringe. Sitting down on the bed, he pulled his bag towards him and rummaged about for some clean clothes and the packet of painkillers he knew was in there somewhere. He had just popped one out of the foil packet and swallowed – without water – when he heard a knock at the door.

 

‘What the…..?’

 

He swore softly to himself, and hurriedly reached over to check his watch. There was still forty minutes before he had to be anywhere. He wondered briefly if it was Morrow come to check up on him, and smirked as he got up to open the door. Being hung-over and dressed in just a towel wouldn’t do much for his standing with the Director, but what the hell.

 

‘Ziva?’

 

‘Wow’. He could see the corners of her mouth twitching as she looked him up and down. ‘Those last two shots really were not a good idea, hmm?’

 

‘What are you doing here?’

 

She raised her eyebrows, and held up two take-out cups and a bulging paper bag.

 

‘Are you going to let me in?’

 

Actually, Gibbs had had no intention of letting her in. He was sure that being in a bedroom with Ziva when he was all but naked was a worse idea than the bourbon had been, but as she handed him a coffee with a knowing smile, he relented and walked back into the room, leaving her to shut the door behind her. He took a mouthful of the coffee as she put the paper bag down on the desk and made herself comfortable on the chair.

 

‘What?’

 

She looked innocently over at Gibbs as she noticed him staring at her.

 

‘You didn’t answer my question’.

 

Ziva reached over to rip open the paper bag, exposing two pastries, and took a bite out of one before pushing the other one across the table towards him.

 

‘You are hung-over. I brought coffee and cinnamon pastries. Do you need any more of an answer?’

 

Gibbs didn’t reply. His headache had been easing off slightly. Maybe it was his imagination, but he was sure it was now getting worse.

 

‘You need a shave’.

 

‘I know that’. He hadn’t meant to sound quite so irritated as he ran a hand over his stubble. ‘Coffee first’.

 

‘Hmm’.

 

Ziva was smiling now, and he scowled as he put down his cup and headed back to the bathroom. As he filled the sink with warm water and rubbed some shaving gel over his face, he thought to himself that it was maybe just as well. The sooner he was finished in here and dressed, the better.

 

‘Do you always drink bourbon?’

 

Gibbs jumped as he looked in the mirror and realised that Ziva had followed him and was now leaning against the bathroom door, coffee in hand.

 

‘Yes. And don’t do that’. He waved his razor at her.

 

‘What?’

 

‘Sneak up behind people’.

 

She shrugged. ‘I do it for a living’.

 

He was silent for a moment as he carefully moved the blade over the underside of his chin and round his jaw. The last thing he wanted now was a shaving cut. Ziva watched him in the mirror, never taking her eyes from him as she sipped her coffee. It was slightly disconcerting, but at the same time Gibbs found the hint of flirtatiousness in her eyes exciting. He wasn’t going to ask her to leave.

 

As he finished and splashed his face, washing away the last of the gel, she reached behind him and picked up a towel, handing it to him before he dripped water all over the bathroom floor. When he emerged from the cotton, his face dry, his heart gave a little thump as he realized Ziva had moved closer and was reaching up a hand to take his chin in her fingers. He inhaled sharply as he felt her move her thumb along his jawbone, turning his face slightly one way and then the other, and she smiled as she saw his reaction.

 

‘No cuts’, she said quietly. ‘Very good’.

 

‘Lots of practice’.

 

She nodded and dropped her hand.

 

‘You should have that coffee before it gets cold’.

 

‘Umm-hmm’.

 

Gibbs didn’t know whether to be relieved or thoroughly disappointed when she turned and walked back into the bedroom, and he took a couple of deep breaths before following her. He had known this would turn out to be bad idea. After managing to keep last night on a reasonably professional footing – bar the alcohol – he was now pushing his luck. Part of him, though, really didn’t care. 

 

‘What’s today?’

 

Ziva handed him the coffee.

 

‘Practical’. She didn’t look in the least bit concerned about what had just nearly happened. ‘Chemical and biological’.

 

‘Great’. Gibbs groaned. ‘Not with Rivkin again?’

 

Ziva laughed.

 

‘No. You, me and the man from Interpol’.

 

‘Sounds like a bad film’.

 

‘It may turn into one if we do not get there on time’.

 

Gibbs gestured to his jeans and t-shirt on the bed.

 

‘So you gonna let me get ready? Or do I have to use the bathroom?’

 

Ziva chuckled.

 

‘You do not trust me not to look?’

 

Before he could reply – although he would have struggled to think of a suitable one quickly enough anyway – she stood up and moved towards the bathroom herself.

 

‘And you are probably right. So I will use the bathroom while you get dressed’.

 

Gibbs nodded, and waited until the door had shut before quickly pulling off the towel and picking up his underwear, but then thought – too late – that he should have waited a little bit longer. He was only just pulling on his jeans when the door opened again and Ziva’s voice carried quietly across the room.

 

‘By the way, I like that shirt. It makes you look….sexy’.

 

The door shut again, and this time he heard running water as Ziva washed her hands and splashed her face. He exhaled with a hiss, not realising that he had been holding his breath. The argument that he kept repeating to himself – that this was not a good move for so many reasons – was beginning to seem redundant.

 

* * *

 

 

‘That’, Ziva announced through clenched teeth, ‘was a disaster’.

 

As Gibbs matched her stride for angry stride across the car park, he thought she was probably right. If the exercises in dealing with the aftermath of a chemical and biological attack on the fleet had been real, both he and Ziva would, at best, be in the hospital ED by now, and the man from Interpol – Gibbs still couldn’t remember his name – had fared no better. But then, he supposed, that was the purpose of the week, to flesh out any weaknesses like the ones exposed today. They would have to try and explain what went wrong in the debrief later and in their reports at the end of the week, but none of that particularly bothered Gibbs. Ziva, however, seemed to be taking it personally.

 

He kept up with her as she swiped her ID card to enter the accommodation block and headed towards the recreation area. It was deserted, and Gibbs guessed the other agents were still out on exercise. He watched as she furiously dug in her pocket for change before feeding it into the vending machine and, after giving it a sharp thump, retrieved a bottle of orange juice.

 

‘Why so bothered?’ he asked mildly.

 

She raised her eyebrows at him as she unscrewed the top of her drink.

 

‘You would probably be dead, while I would have second degree burns. I would call that a failure, no?’

 

‘That’s why we’re here. To cock it up now rather than later’.

 

‘Says the man who insisted this week was a waste of time’.

 

‘Yeah, well’.

 

Gibbs reached out and took the orange juice from her hand, partly because he was thirsty himself and partly because he didn’t trust her not to throw it, either at him or at something else. He suspected that there was a degree of embarrassment in her anger as well, and realised that she had probably not wanted to mess up in front of her father.

 

He watched her as he took a swig from the bottle, saw the fire flash in her brown eyes as she took a deep breath. The thought that she was even sexier when she was inflamed like this crossed his mind, and for once he did nothing to push it away.

 

She leaned against the back of a chair and reached out a hand for the bottle of juice.

 

‘I am sorry, Gibbs’.

 

‘Never apologise’. His answer was reflexive, and she smiled despite herself.

 

‘Is that an NCIS rule?’

 

‘No, mine’.

 

Ziva nodded slowly, pushing herself off the back of the chair and moving closer to him.

 

‘Do you have many rules, Gibbs?’

 

‘A few. That’s number six’.

 

‘Hmm’.

 

Gibbs didn’t move as she stepped closer again, her body now just inches away from his. She was a good bit shorter than he was, and he realised for the first time that she was actually quite small. He was conscious of his heart beating faster as he felt the heat from her body, and knew she could tell the effect she was having on him.

 

‘My country, Agent Gibbs’. She spoke softly. ‘My rules’.

 

‘Yeah?’ Gibbs matched her quiet, edgy tone. ‘Your rule number six?’

 

He saw the challenge in her eyes as she looked up at him.

 

‘Rule number one is more important, yes?’

 

Gibbs raised his eyebrows as he felt her hand brush his arm.

 

‘Which is?’

 

She smiled suddenly, a slow, sexy smile that made Gibbs inhale sharply.

 

‘It was ‘complete the mission’. I am thinking of changing it’.

 

‘To what?’

 

‘Never become involved with an ex-marine’.

 

Her lips were so close to his, he had to close his eyes for a moment to stop himself.

 

‘Involved?’

 

‘It should be a very bad idea’.

 

Gibbs nodded. She was right, but his next words were out before he could stop them.

 

‘It is. Terrible idea. But right now......’

 

She nodded.

 

‘It somehow seems like a very good one’.

 

Gibbs couldn’t tell if it had been Ziva or himself that closed the last tiny gap between them. It didn’t really matter, anyway. He felt her arms around his neck, her lips hot on his, and he responded with a passion he didn’t know he had in him.

 

She wasn’t timid, and neither was he. He felt her move round, taking him with her so that his back was against the wall, felt her hands start to wander down from his neck, over his face and chest, and tightened his own grip on her back, one hand tangled in her long hair. He felt her kisses grow more urgent, felt himself responding and, even as his brain was shouting at him to get a grip and at least go somewhere private, he slipped a hand under her t-shirt. She gasped at his touch, kissing him even harder, and he wasn’t sure he could stop.

 

‘Ziva? Agent Gibbs?’

 

Gibbs heard the outside door slam, heard Rivkin’s voice shout along the corridor and pulled away quickly as Ziva stepped back, breathing hard, her eyes flashing. She moved away from him towards the vending machine, letting him at least try and compose himself before the Israeli appeared in the recreation room doorway.

 

‘Ah. You are both here. Good’.

 

He paused, and Gibbs wondered how obvious it was that they had been in the middle of something.

 

‘Debrief in fifteen minutes. Room 104’.

 

Ziva nodded, and Rivkin walked over to the machine.

 

‘You want something?’

 

Ziva looked at him like he had gone mad, and then Gibbs saw her realise that Rivkin was talking about a drink. She nodded again.

 

‘Orange juice, bevakasha’.

 

She winked at Gibbs behind Rivkin’s back, and he shook his head, a warning look in his eyes but still, a small smile on his face.

 

It was probably just as well, he reflected, that the other Mossad officer had walked in when he did. It could have been a lot worse if it had been five minutes later. He could still feel Ziva’s lips on his, the heat from her hands against his chest, and tried to stop himself grinning like an idiot.

 

He was still convinced it was a bad idea. But he was prepared to take the consequences.

 


	4. The Fourth Day

Gibbs took a long swallow of his beer before putting the bottle back on the table and looking around him. Someone – he suspected Rivkin again – had organised dinner out for the group of agents, and so far it actually hadn’t been too bad. Normally he hated occasions like this but, he admitted to himself, sitting opposite Ziva had probably helped. He hadn’t spoken much to her over the kreplach that the restaurant, Mayan Habira, was rightly famous for, but every so often he had caught her eye and could tell she was trying to suppress a smile. She knew exactly what he was thinking about.

 

Their kiss yesterday afternoon had left Gibbs unable to concentrate for the rest of the day. When the other agents had retired to write reports and check in with their teams back home, Gibbs had headed back to his own room and, after pacing for an hour or so, had ended up lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling and wondering what the hell he had got himself into. He had still been there at midnight when he had heard a soft knock on his door.

 

He nodded his thanks to Alon as another bottle of beer was put down in front of him, and watched as the Shin Bet agent handed Ziva a glass of wine. He wouldn’t have put her down as a red wine drinker, but then again, he realised that there was a lot he didn’t know. He could still feel the heat of her lips on his, and his skin still tingled when he thought about her touch, her hands and fingers on his body. Her warmth and softness had taken him by surprise, and later on, in the bright light of day, he wondered whether he had imagined the hint of self-consciousness in her eyes as he had taken off her clothes. If it had been there, it hadn’t taken long to disappear, and neither of them could have held back even if they wanted to. When Ziva had finally left his room at five that morning, Gibbs had been convinced there was no point in even trying to sleep, but two hours later he had awoken from a dreamless slumber that left him feeling more refreshed than if he’d been asleep all night.

 

‘Is something on your mind, Gibbs?’

 

He looked across the table to where Ziva was sitting, an innocent look on her face as she sipped her wine. She was next to Hayward – although in Gibbs’s mind he would always just be ‘the man from Interpol’ – and now the other agent chuckled.

 

‘He was getting the eye earlier. The sailor who was pretending to be on deck watch. Reckon she’s what’s on his mind’.

 

Gibbs just smirked. He wasn’t going to correct him. But as Hayward turned to Ziva, changing the subject and asking her something about Tel Aviv, Gibbs noticed a flash of something in her brown eyes before she answered him. Jealousy, perhaps? He felt a small stab of satisfaction at the thought that she wanted him to herself. Even if it was just for the next few days.

 

As he half listened to their conversation, his mind returned to earlier, running over the day. The exercises had gone well, a complete contrast to the disaster of yesterday. This time it had been bombs. To be more precise, an Improvised Exlosive Device in the morning and a suicide bomber at the port entrance in the afternoon. Everything, for once, had gone almost to plan. The IED had been dismantled before lunch with no casualties, and, although the ‘suicide bomber’ had departed from his script and pretended to blow himself up, he had at least done it in the deserted car park where the only fatality would have been a senior officer’s Audi.

 

Despite their success, Ziva had been very quiet all through the afternoon and evening. Gibbs had wondered whether she was regretting the night before, but the way she had looked at him earlier when she knew no one else was watching convinced him that last night was not the problem. Maybe, he thought, there wasn’t a problem. Maybe she just wasn’t feeling particularly sociable. Or maybe, like him, she was thinking about when they might be able to get some time alone again.

 

The rest of the evening, for Gibbs, passed in a haze of half-followed conversations, more Goldstar, and thoughts of his colleague that would probably have been considered totally inappropriate to be having a restaurant had anyone else known about them. Even so, he was surprised that it was still reasonably early when Ziva announced that she was tired and was heading back. As she drained her glass and pulled on her linen jacket, it was Gibbs’s turn to experience a flash of jealousy when Rivkin offered to walk back with her, and he found himself wondering how much, if anything, the other Mossad agent had guessed about the two of them. He was glad when she refused, laughing, saying that she was more than capable of taking care of herself, but felt his good mood sink a little as he watched her walk out of the restaurant.

 

Even in such a short space of time, he realised that he had started to want to be around her. It wasn’t just the little sizzle of excitement he got from their physical attraction. He enjoyed her company as well, and even though she had been quiet tonight, she had managed to lift the conversation round the table a bit, in his eyes at least. Now he was left with a group of half-cut, ‘all men together’ agents, and it wasn’t long before he started wondering how soon he could reasonably make his own excuses and leave without raising suspicions.

 

* * *

 

It was eleven o’clock when Gibbs paused outside Ziva’s door, wondering whether to knock or whether to leave it for tonight and try and speak to her tomorrow. He didn’t want to disturb her if she was asleep, but on the other hand he wanted to be with her again, even though it was only a couple of hours since he had seen her at dinner. He knew she would have got back safely – he couldn’t use that as an excuse for checking on her – but she had been quiet, and that was niggling at him for some reason. And he couldn’t deny he wanted to kiss her again. In fact, he thought wryly, there was quite a lot he wouldn’t mind doing again.

 

He raised his hand to knock, deciding that she wouldn’t have any compunction about telling him where to go if she didn’t want him there, but before he could tap on the door he heard the handle turn.

 

‘Does it always take you this long to knock on women’s doors?’

 

She was dressed in sleepwear – powder blue check shorts, a blue sleeveless top and a grey hoodie with the zip undone – but, he thought, she didn’t look the least bit sleepy. Looking past her, he could see a book open on the table beside the bed and the pillows propped up against the wall, her clothes from earlier folded neatly on the chair. She must have heard him outside, and he shrugged, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

 

‘Just yours. Figured you’d be pissed off if I woke you up’.

 

Ziva stood aside to let him in, and quietly shut the door behind him.

 

‘I was not asleep. So you did not need to worry’.

 

She padded back to the bed and slipped a marker into the book before closing it and turning to Gibbs, one eyebrow raised at his slightly amused look.

 

‘What?’

 

‘Nothing’. Gibbs shook his head. ‘Just….pajamas. Book. Didn’t have you down as the reading-in-bed type’.

 

Ziva raised the other eyebrow, but Gibbs saw that she was not annoyed.

 

‘There is a lot you do not know, Agent Gibbs’.

 

The playful tone in her voice made him smile, and when she moved in front of him he reached out to rest his hands on her hips, drawing her closer to him.

 

‘Hmm. That an invitation?’

 

She laughed, but didn’t reply as she leaned up to press her lips to his. The long, slow, intense kiss left no room in Gibbs’s mind for anything else, and when they broke apart Ziva closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his chest, taking a deep breath. He rested his chin on top of her head, and it was a few moments before he could speak.

 

‘You were quiet tonight’.

 

She slowly pulled away, and went to sit back on the bed, leaning against the pillows with her knees tucked up towards her chin. It suddenly struck him how young she looked, with her dark curls loose down her back and the hoodie that was too big for her slipping off one shoulder. He doubted whether she would answer his question, but thought it was worth a try anyway.

 

‘Something on your mind?’

 

She shook her head as he realised he had echoed her question from earlier in the evening, when she teased him in the restaurant. She knew it too, and even though a slight guardedness had crept in to her expression, her eyes were twinkling.

 

‘No. I was just not feeling very sociable, I suppose’.

 

‘Hmm’.

 

He sat down at the bottom of the bed, his back against the wall, and kicked off his shoes as they sat in silence for a while. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but Gibbs could feel Ziva watching him. When he turned his head to face her, her expression was thoughtful, appraising. He got the feeling he was being sized up again, but this time, he thought, she wasn’t really looking at his body. She was wondering whether to trust him with something.

 

He waited. He wasn’t going to push. And besides, he might be totally wrong.

 

‘My little sister died in a suicide bombing. Three years ago’.

 

Gibbs looked at her, but her eyes were no longer on him. She was gazing at the book on the table, and it crossed his mind that he had no idea what the title was since it was printed in Hebrew.

 

‘Must have been hard’.

 

He guessed that she wouldn’t want sympathy, and so didn’t move, or elaborate. But his mind started ticking over, wondering if perhaps the exercise this afternoon had brought back some memories Ziva would rather have forgotten.

 

She seemed to know what he was thinking.

 

‘I am used to dealing with the threat’. She smiled humourlessly. ‘All Israelis are. And agents are trained to leave their personal circumstances behind’.

 

Gibbs smiled gently. He understood what she meant, probably better than she realised.

 

‘Not so easy’.

 

She tore her gaze away from the book and looked at him, and he could see the pain in her eyes that she couldn’t quite hide.

 

‘It would have been Tali’s birthday today. She would have been nineteen’. She paused. ‘I could not help…..remembering’.

 

Gibbs nodded slowly. He saw what it had cost her to tell him that. He realised that, as far as she was concerned, her feelings were a weakness, not a natural human reaction to a difficult situation, and he also knew that no matter what he said, she would probably still feel that way. The fact that she had said anything to him at all made him wonder if perhaps she too was beginning to experience something beyond the strong physical attraction that had caught them both. And he shocked himself when he found that he wanted to return that trust by telling her that he knew all too well how she felt. 

 

He didn’t say any of that. He could tell from the look on her face that he didn’t really need to. But as he thought over what she had said, he felt a spark of anger flare within him that he couldn’t disguise.

 

‘Your father scheduled you on this exercise today?’

 

Ziva nodded.

 

Gibbs couldn’t keep the incredulity out of his voice.

 

‘Seriously?’

 

‘Of course.’

 

Ziva actually smiled at the expression of disbelief on Gibbs’s face.

 

‘He worked on the day of the funeral. And he always had to be reminded of our birthdays. Even Tali’s. So I would not expect him to remember it now that she is dead’.

 

Gibbs just shook his head. He hadn’t really formed an opinion of Eli David up until that point. He had not seen enough of him to justify it. But now he found he didn’t want – or need – to see any more.

 

‘It is just the way he is’. Ziva’s voice was quiet. ‘But I maybe should not have told you. It is not something you needed to be burdened with’.

 

This time Gibbs did reach out for her, and was surprised when she shifted her knees down so that he could pull her into a hug.

 

‘Glad you did’.

 

His words were muffled against her hair, but he felt her nod against his chest.  She had been worried about his reaction, and he tightened his arms around her, trying to let her know that she didn’t need to be.

 

‘Want me to stay?’

 

Ziva pulled gently away from him, smiling.

 

‘Both of us sleeping on a single bed would be a bit uncomfortable, would it not?’

 

‘Managed last night’.

 

‘Hmm’. Her hand wandered down his stomach and along the top of his thigh, making his skin tingle even through his jeans. ‘As I recall, we did not sleep last night’.

 

Gibbs reached up a finger and traced the line of her jaw, down her neck to her collarbone, and was gratified to hear her sharp intake of breath and to see the desire in her brown eyes.

 

‘I suppose’, she murmured, ‘we could manage for one night’.

 

He slipped the hoodie off her shoulders, and leaned over to press his lips against the smooth, tanned skin, brushing her hair out of the way and smiling as she took a deep breath, trying to control her reaction. A low moan escaped her as his lips dropped lower, to the top of her breast above the pajamas, and he thought it was the sexiest sound he had ever heard. Single bed or not, he wasn’t planning on going anywhere.

 

Last night, they had been frantic, hungry, hard with each other, wanting everything at once. Tonight, like their kiss earlier, it was slow, deep, intense, and no less passionate. Ziva let him take control and set the pace, and he took his time, playing with her, sweetly torturing her, discovering the places where she loved to be kissed and the spots that he could touch with his fingers that would make her writhe underneath him, begging for more. He was greedy, soaking up her soft moans and the feel of her body pressed against his, and it fleetingly crossed his mind that it was first time in a long time that he had made love to someone like this.

 

When they finally fell asleep in the early hours, they were close in each other’s arms not just out of necessity, but out of need and want. Neither of them said anything about the morning, when Gibbs would have to try and leave Ziva’s room without anyone seeing. His last thought before he drifted down into sleep was whether it would really be so bad if they did.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. The Fifth Day

‘Agent Gibbs!’

 

Gibbs turned at the sound of Morrow’s voice behind him, knowing that he could not very well ignore it. He and Ziva had woken up late, both with slightly stiff backs, but despite that neither of them had been in any hurry to get up and face the rest of the world. It was just as well that the morning had been set aside in the schedule for debriefs and report writing, otherwise their lateness – together – would almost certainly have been noted.

 

Morrow looked slightly annoyed at having to jog to catch up with Gibbs in the corridor.

 

‘I went to find you in your room, but you weren’t there’.

 

‘Obviously’.

 

Gibbs didn’t offer an explanation as to where he had been, but figured that since it was now almost ten in the morning, he didn’t really need to. For all anyone else knew, Gibbs could have discovered a sudden passion for jogging and been up at six to pound the seafront. Being in Ziva’s bed had probably been just as good in terms of exercise, but he decided his Director probably didn’t need to know that.

 

Morrow looked at him for a moment, eyes slightly narrowed, before he decided to let it slide.

 

‘Well. I assume that, wherever you’ve been, you are now on your way to start writing the reports that you will need to complete the week’s training?’

 

‘Umm-hmm’.

 

A look of frustration crossed Morrow’s face at Gibbs’s non-committal reply.

 

‘You will need to have them finished, Agent Gibbs’.

 

‘Yeah’.

 

Morrow looked as if he wanted to carry on in this vein, but thought better of it. Instead he reached a hand up to his forehead to wipe the beads of sweat that had started to accumulate there, and then rubbed his hand on the bottom of his shirt.

 

‘Damn’, he muttered. ‘Hope it’s raining in DC’.

 

He looked at the patch of damp that now darkened the hem of his shirt before shrugging and looking back at Gibbs.

 

‘Oh, and by the way. Deputy Director David and I would like to see both you and Officer David later. Four o’clock in the meeting room’.

 

Gibbs had the feeling that this was the real reason Morrow had been chasing round looking for him. He should have known the reports really weren’t that important.

 

‘Oh?’ He raised his eyebrows, pretending to look unconcerned. ‘Any particular reason?’

 

‘Nothing to worry about’. Morrow’s tone was breezy, but Gibbs knew his Director well enough to realise when he was putting it on.

 

‘Ziva know yet?’

 

Morrow didn’t look surprised at his use of Ziva’s first name, but didn’t comment.

 

‘No, I was going to find her after I saw you’. He paused, and looked shrewdly at Gibbs. ‘Although I might have had better luck looking for the two of you together, I think. I’ll let you tell her when you next see her’.

 

He didn’t reply, and Morrow turned to leave.

 

‘Don’t be late’.

 

As Gibbs headed back to his own room to shower and change, he found himself feeling slightly uneasy and wondering what, exactly, Eli David would want with him.

 

* * *

 

‘You sure you don’t know what this is about?’

 

Ziva sighed as she adjusted her gold necklace. The clasp had shifted round to the front, next to the tiny Star of David that hung on the delicate chain, and Gibbs watched as her slim fingers moved it round to the back of her neck. 

 

‘That is the ninth time you have asked me’, she pointed out. ‘And for the ninth time, I have no idea’.

 

‘Hmm’.

 

Gibbs believed her, but that didn’t stop him worrying and he checked his watch, seeing that it was now five to four. They had already been waiting outside the meeting room for five minutes – Ziva had insisted that they should be early rather than late – and the longer they waited, the more apprehensive Gibbs grew.

 

He told himself that the only logical reason for them both to be called here was that the Directors had discovered that his relationship with Ziva was no longer purely professional. Despite Morrow’s warnings earlier in the week, Gibbs still didn’t really see why that would be a problem, or what business it was of anyone else. It had hardly affected their work in a negative way and besides, he would be headed home in less than forty eight hours.  It was a thought that he quickly pushed away. Just four days ago, it would have cheered him up considerably, but now it just left him feeling empty. And something in his gut was telling him that there was more in store than a simple bollocking over a clandestine relationship between two agents. 

 

As they entered the small room at four o’clock exactly, Gibbs couldn’t help remembering what Ziva had told him the previous night, and he had to work hard to keep his expression neutral as he looked at Eli David, sat off to the side while Morrow stood behind the desk. He knew that respectful would have been better than neutral, but under the circumstances it was the best he could manage.

 

‘Agent Gibbs, Officer David. Thank you for coming’.

 

Morrow’s formal greeting sounded surprisingly cheerful, his casual tone at odds with the stiff wording, and Gibbs almost asked whether they had actually had a choice in the matter. He stopped himself just in time.

 

‘’I’m sure you are wondering why you’re here’.

 

‘Yes sir’.

 

The reply came from Ziva, and when Gibbs looked at her out of the corner of her eye he was impressed at the lack of emotion, of any kind of curiosity or concern on her face. She had been trained – or had trained herself – very well.

 

Morrow nodded, and looked at Eli David.

 

‘Eli? You want to do the honours?’

 

The other man nodded, and leaned forward in his seat. He was not looking at his daughter, but at Gibbs when he spoke.

 

‘Agent Gibbs, I must firstly apologise. The week is almost over and I have not yet introduced myself and talked to you properly, which I meant to do. I have been busier than expected’.

 

Gibbs didn’t reply, but inclined his head slightly instead. He was actually quite grateful to have escaped Eli David’s attentions up to that point, but took care not to let his thoughts show.

 

‘But I have been very impressed with your work this week. Yours and Ziva’s’.

 

It was the first time his eyes had settled on Ziva since she had entered the room, but Gibbs saw that both father and daughter maintained their professional expressions. He guessed that was how it had to be; working with close family would be impossible otherwise. But when he looked back at Eli, he once again got the impression of a formidable force behind the compliments and satisfied smile, and thought that he would not be an easy man to work with – or for – whatever the background.

 

He focused his attention as Eli continued speaking.

 

‘I am sure you have worked out by now that the purpose of this week was to start the process of building more formal – and closer – ties between our two agencies. NCIS and Mossad. And it has worked out better than we would have hoped. The training exercises did not all go to plan, but your teamwork has been exemplary’.

 

He saw Ziva’s eyes widen slightly, and had to suppress a smile himself, even though he guessed that the double meaning had been deliberate. Eli knew fine well what had been going on but, for some reason, was choosing not to say anything direct.

 

‘We think our two agencies could really learn from each other, especially after 9/11’. Morrow took over as Eli leaned back in his chair, clasping his big hands behind his head. ‘Counter-terrorism strategy is becoming more and more important, and we need to learn from and work with the best. You’ve shown this week that you can work well together. We’d like that to continue on a more……well. A more permanent basis’.

 

Gibbs took a deep breath, while Ziva’s eyes narrowed slightly. He sensed that she knew as well as he did roughly where this was going, but he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. One thing was certain. Neither of them had expected this.

 

‘You mean some kind of liaison position for Officer David?’

 

Once again, Eli David leaned forward.

 

‘No, Agent Gibbs. The liaison position is for you’.

 

Morrow quickly interjected before Gibbs could protest.

 

‘We’re establishing a new joint counter-terrorism team, with agents drawn from both NCIS and Mossad and based in Tel Aviv. The brief is to protect American and Israeli naval interests worldwide from the terrorist threat’. He paused. ‘We’d like you and Officer David to lead it’.

 

‘You want me to come to Israel?’

 

Morrow nodded.

 

‘Your combined skills make you two the perfect choice. You, Agent Gibbs, are a superb investigator, and Officer David has exceptional tactical abilities’.

 

‘You mean I am a skilled assassin’.

 

Ziva’s bluntness made Morrow look slightly uncomfortable for a moment, but it was Eli David who answered her.

 

‘Yes. Partly. But you have also proven yourself in the field in other ways. This could be your reward for that’.

 

‘Could be?’

 

‘This is a job offer. It is not an order. If you decide not to accept, there are others who we will approach. Obviously they are not our first choice, but if we have to we will move on’.

 

Gibbs noticed Ziva’s brown eyes register her surprise before the professional mask was back. She looked at him briefly before turning back to the Directors.

 

‘What is the time frame?’

 

‘Take tomorrow to think about it’. Morrow looked at each of them in turn. ‘We’ll both be around if you think of any questions, which I’m sure you will. We need a decision the day after tomorrow. If you decide to accept…..’ He shrugged. ‘Things can be sorted quickly’.

 

‘What about my team in DC?’

 

Morrow looked slightly embarrassed as he considered Gibbs’s question, and it was obvious to Gibbs that his replacement had already been thought about and probably decided on. The Director was trying not to make that fact too obvious, but was failing miserably.

 

‘Obviously you would need to be replaced as soon as possible. As things are, though, I’m not sure that any of your current team will be quite ready for that level of responsibility’.

 

Gibbs thought about Tony DiNozzo and Kate Todd back in Washington. Both great agents, but he had to admit Morrow was right. Neither of them was ready for their own team.

 

‘So?’

 

‘There are candidates’.

 

‘Who?’

 

Morrow did not answer immediately, and Gibbs sighed, frustrated. He was aware of Eli David’s eyes on him, and could sense Ziva’s curiosity at his insistence on knowing his possible replacements. But there was no way he was going to even consider this without knowing who would be taking over his team. And it was still _his_ team.

 

Morrow seemed to realise what Gibbs was thinking and relented, although he looked as if it was against his better judgment.

 

‘Stan Burley. William Decker. And Jenny Shepard. If you decide to accept this, Jenny is the front-runner’.

 

Gibbs nodded slowly. He supposed it could have been worse, although he didn’t like the idea that those three agents had obviously already been approached. He wondered wryly what Jenny’s reaction had been. He had not parted with his former lover on the best of terms, but he had to admit she was a damn good agent. And, he thought, she would also make a very good team leader.

 

‘So’. Eli David stood up, taking Gibbs momentarily by surprise. He had almost forgotten the Mossad Deputy Director was in the room. ‘We meet back here the day after tomorrow, before you fly back to Washington. Think about your decision’.

 

Nodding at the dismissal, Gibbs followed Ziva out of the room and down the corridor. They didn’t stop, or speak, until they were out of the building and into the afternoon air, and as the entrance door swung shut behind them, Ziva leaned against the wall. She looked dumbfounded, and Gibbs knew her expression was probably mirrored on his own face.

 

For a few moments, they just stood and looked at each other. Gibbs could tell that Ziva’s mind was turning over just as fast as his own was, going over the implications and possibilities and potential problems of what they had just been asked to do. And he realised that she was just as torn and worried as he was.

 

Professionally, there could be no question that they had both just been offered a big promotion, probably bigger than either of them would ever get again. Gibbs had never been particularly bothered about working his way up any ladders, but he had to admit that the premise of the counter-terrorism team intrigued him. Doing the investigative work that he did best, but on an international scale, was a challenge that could quite excite him if he allowed it to do so, and he suspected Ziva thought the same.

 

Personally, however, it was a minefield. Deep down, Gibbs knew what had started to develop between himself and Ziva, although he also knew that, had it not been for the meeting that had just taken place, he would probably never have admitted it. He didn’t think he could change how he was beginning to feel, but working with someone under those circumstances……that was not a good idea. And it sounded like an even worse idea when he considered that, in this respect, he had no idea if Ziva felt the same. 

 

He leaned against the wall next to her, echoing her posture with his feet apart and head back on the baking hot stone. The sun had not lost the heat of the day yet, and it was beating down on the small garden that surrounded the entrance to the admin block. As he felt Ziva’s hand slip into his, he found himself wondering how the grass was still so green after the summer. Perhaps the port authority employed a gardener to keep it watered. He couldn’t see any of the officers doing the job themselves.

 

Gibbs squeezed Ziva’s hand in his, and turned to see her looking at him, her head still against the stone, her brown eyes troubled. He wanted to ask her if she was having the same dilemmas he was, but the words stuck in his throat.

 

‘So’. Ziva’s voice was soft, little more than a murmur. ‘What do we do?’

 

 

 

 


	6. The Sixth Day

‘Great view’.

 

Gibbs paused in the shade of a tree to contemplate the spread of the city and the bay below them, shimmering in the morning heat. Behind him, across the path, the small picnic area was beginning to fill up with families and couples all wanting to make the most of a sunny Shabbat before the rainy season began; beyond that, the leafy green of Gan Ha’Em park rose even further up the hill towards the zoo, and Gibbs thought he could hear the chattering and birdsong from the aviary drifting down on the gentle breeze. He slowly lowered himself down onto the grass, leaning his back against the tree and drawing his knees up towards his chest. It was beautiful up here. Peaceful. The decision they – or rather he - had to make seemed like a horrible intrusion that had no business following him to a place like this.

 

He looked at Ziva as she sat down beside him and handed him a bottle of water.

 

‘When I was younger I spent all my summers in Haifa’.

 

Ziva gazed out over the sparkling blue of the bay, narrowing her eyes slightly against the brightness of the sunlight on the water and accepting the bottle back from Gibbs.

 

‘I used to come up here often. It gets busy on days like today, but it is still calming. It is a good place to think’.

 

‘Must have done a lot of thinking’.

 

Ziva smiled, but didn’t reply, and for a while they sat in silence. When her hand wandered over to rest on his knee, Gibbs lifted it and raised it to his lips before entwining his fingers with hers. He knew they would have to start discussing things. The longer they put it off, the harder it would be.

 

‘You thought about this yet?’

 

She gave a rueful smile and nodded.

 

‘I have thought about nothing else. I did not sleep very well last night’.

 

Gibbs shook his head. He hadn’t either, but he didn’t think he could entirely put it down to apprehension and indecision. He and Ziva had spent last night apart, a consensus designed to give them both some space to think over their options, but it hadn’t taken long for Gibbs to regret it. He had missed her, and he could only imagine how much worse it was going to be when he got back on a plane.

 

‘I was trying to think about it logically, but I could not decide. I want to lead the team, and I want you. That is not......’ Ziva tailed off, and shrugged. ‘That is not logical’.

 

‘Comes a point where logic doesn’t work. You gotta go with your gut’.

 

‘Hmm’. Ziva turned to him, a hint of a tease in her eyes despite the serious nature of what they were talking about. She reached out her free hand and poked him gently in the stomach. ‘And what is your gut telling you now?’

 

‘That it’s hungry’.

 

It was true, but another, sharper poke from Ziva’s finger told Gibbs that he would have to wait for lunch. He sighed, and squeezed her hand that still lay on his knee, his gaze returning to the horizon.

 

He had known she wanted to accept the team leader job; he wouldn’t have expected anything else. And he had also sensed that she wanted to be with him, to give whatever it was they had started a chance to develop. Whether it had to be a case of one or the other......he sighed again as he tried to think. He knew now why Morrow had warned him against becoming too involved, and inwardly cursed his Director for not being straight in the first place. Although, he admitted to himself, it probably wouldn’t have made any difference. He wondered how he was going to answer Ziva’s question. _What is your gut telling you now?_

 

‘That as an agent I’d be an idiot to turn this down’. He paused.

 

‘And?’ Ziva prodded him gently.

 

‘And that the weather in DC is crap. At least here I’ll get some sunshine’.

 

Ziva chuckled. ‘You have been sweating like a pig all week. And Tel Aviv is worse’.

 

‘And that I want to be with you’, he admitted at last. ‘But..... not sure that work and relationships mix’. He glanced at Ziva out of the corner of his eye, and decided to be brutally honest. ‘And not sure I could work for Eli’.

 

He was surprised when she laughed.

 

‘Most people say exactly the same thing’.

 

‘How do you manage it?’

 

Gibbs was genuinely curious, and Ziva didn’t reply immediately but took her time considering her answer. He waited as she thought, watching her face as she searched for the right word, and noticed for the first time how her lips pursed a little when she concentrated, how her brow furrowed slightly like a child’s. He wanted to reach out and touch her lips, to trace the line of her forehead with his fingers, and thought that he would probably never tire of looking at her.

 

‘If I did not, I would have no Papa’. Ziva’s voice was quiet. ‘His job has always come first for him, even before his family. He was never interested in our schoolwork, until we did badly. He always forgot birthdays, and he never played with us on Hannukah. He never came to watch me dance’.

 

She paused, and Gibbs remembered the first day he had been here, how he had thought Ziva moved so gracefully, like a dancer. It had never occurred to him that she was.

 

‘But every girl wants to make their daddy proud, no? The only way I can make him proud of me is to be a good Mossad officer. It is the only thing he understands’.

 

Gibbs just shook his head. He wanted to tell her that she was worth more, that she deserved a father who would be proud of her no matter what she did or didn’t do, but he could see that she knew that already. And she also knew that Eli would probably never change.

 

She gave a small smile as she saw the expression on his face.

 

‘It is the way things are, Gibbs. To put it bluntly….since I cannot replace my father, I am doing the best I can with what I have. Does that sound terrible?’

 

‘No’. Gibbs squeezed her hand again, returning her smile. ‘Sounds pretty admirable to me’.

 

‘And I do not know how much we would be in direct contact with him’. Ziva sounded thoughtful again. ‘Obviously we would be answerable to him, and to your director. But my impression is that, as team leaders, we would have a good deal of…..what would you say?’

 

‘Wiggle room?’

 

‘Yes’. Ziva grinned. ‘Wiggle room’.

 

‘Hmm’.

 

They lapsed into silence for a few minutes, listening to the sounds of the children’s playground behind them, before Ziva tapped Gibbs on the knee with one of her fingers.

 

‘But having to work with my father is not your main concern’.

 

‘No, it’s not’.

 

‘You are worried about leaving your team?’

 

He thought for a moment, and then shook his head. It was true to say that he felt very possessive of his team. He was proud of them, and of everything they had achieved. But he had already decided that, if he were to leave Washington and come to Israel, he would make it a condition that he would choose his own replacement. Morrow could take it or leave it.

 

‘So that leaves working with me?’

 

Gibbs opened his mouth to deny it, and then shut it again. He wondered briefly how to phrase what he wanted to say, but decided quickly that thinking about it wasn’t helping, and took a deep breath.

 

‘Nope’.

 

Ziva raised her eyebrows, and he carried on before she could interrupt.

 

‘Working with you doesn’t bother me at all. But falling in love with you while I’m working with you…..that does worry me’.

 

He didn’t know what he expected her reaction to be, but he was slightly shocked to see the understanding in her eyes as she nodded slowly.

 

‘I suppose I have the same concern’.

 

It took Gibbs a moment to realise what she meant, and when it finally registered properly, he stared at her with frank amazement. She smiled at him, suddenly looking a bit shy.

 

‘I know I said that I have slept with colleagues before, but I have never….well. This is new to me’. Her smile took a more confident curve. ‘I think I quite like it’.

 

Gibbs couldn’t help but return her smile. He quite liked it too.

 

There was another pause, both of them thinking about what they had just admitted. Gibbs guessed that, when Ziva said it was new to her, she really meant it. He also understood, from the shyness that had flickered across her face, that she had been nervous about saying so. He reached out and touched her cheek gently with his fingers. Her intake of breath as his skin touched hers, the way she leaned slightly into his hand, the brush of her hair against his wrist....it all felt so right, somehow. The thought of going back to Washington and leaving her here suddenly made him feel slightly sick.

 

‘But you are worried that the way we work together will be affected if our personal relationship goes mango-shaped?’

 

Ziva’s question interrupted his thoughts, but something hadn’t sounded quite right. He dropped his hand from her face and suppressed a chuckle as he realised what it was.

 

‘Pear-shaped, Ziva’.

 

She shrugged. ‘In Israel mangoes are more common than pears. And they are a stranger shape’.

 

Gibbs didn’t argue, since he couldn’t really fault her logic anyway. And, when he thought about her question, he was surprised to realise that it was not the prospect of keeping a professional relationship going through personal problems that worried him the most. He thought – he hoped – that they could both be more adult about it than that, despite the voice of reason and experience in his head whispering to him that such high ideals rarely worked in practice.

 

‘No’.

 

‘You think a pear is more odd than a mango?’

 

‘No, I mean that’s not what bothers me’.

 

He was revealing more of his feelings in one hour on top of a hill with Ziva than he had done to anyone else in several years. It was strangely terrifying and liberating at the same time, but he hadn’t quite got used to it yet. He suspected she hadn’t either.

 

‘What worries me is having to watch you put yourself in danger’.

 

He didn’t carry on and say that an as-yet-unidentified emotion, in amongst all the other feelings whirling inside him, was making him want to wrap her up in his arms and protect her. From what, he wasn’t sure. He knew that she was very capable, and he had already tried reminding himself that her talent and ability as an agent was one of the things that had drawn him to her in the first place. He also knew that she probably wouldn’t appreciate the idea of being mollycoddled. But neither was he convinced that he would be able to refrain from it entirely if they had to work together on assignments that would, undoubtedly, be dangerous.

 

Gibbs felt Ziva’s finger under his chin, drawing his head round so that he was facing her, and when he looked into her eyes he once more saw a level of understanding that took him by surprise.

 

‘So maybe’, she said softly, ‘you will have to try and resist the urge to protect me’. She paused, placing her finger over his lips to stop him from interrupting. ‘But maybe I will also have to learn that being protected sometimes is…..not so bad. A compromise, yes?’

 

Gibbs kissed the finger that still lay over his lips before taking Ziva’s hand in his, and slipping his other arm around her shoulders. He nodded, his head resting on top of hers, not trusting himself to speak right away. He was getting the feeling that this decision was out of his hands, and wondered if it had ever really been his to make.

 

‘Know who the other team members would be?’

 

She pulled away slightly, and shook her head.

 

‘Not yet, although I believe it would be made up of three others. I do not think they will tell us who unless we accept the position’.

 

Gibbs nodded. He had suspected as much, and wondered how much influence they would be able to exert over the selection of those other three members. Ziva seemed to read his mind.

 

‘I do not think they have been chosen yet. So if you want to suggest anyone, I am sure you could have some influence’.

 

‘Anyone you’re thinking of?’

 

Ziva shrugged. ‘Maybe Michael’. She smirked. ‘Although I am not sure whether he would want to work for me. He is very ambitious. A different team of his own would probably suit him better, but he is very experienced. And there is another agent who I have worked with who is very good. Malachai Ben-Gidon. He has done a lot of counter-terrorism work’.

 

‘Hmm’.

 

He didn’t offer any more of a reply, and Ziva leaned her head back against his chest, content to sit quietly for a while as they both thought about things. Once again, Gibbs began going over all the possibilities and options and potential problems, but he now felt as if he was doing it by rote. The worry that had twisted his gut as he had tossed and turned in bed the night before had all but gone, and he tightened his arm around Ziva.

 

‘Missed you last night’.

 

‘I missed you too’.

 

He inhaled the scent of her hair, knowing without asking that she would be spending tonight with him and also realising that, deep down, he had made his decision. Ziva had been right. Up on the top of Mount Carmel was a very good place to think.

 

He pulled away from her and stood up, reaching down to take her hand and smiling as she grabbed it, pulling herself up onto her feet and brushing off her cargo pants. She looked slightly surprised by the sudden move, but also slightly relieved.

 

‘So your gut has made up its mind?’

 

‘Think so’. He nodded as he picked up the water bottle. ‘And it’s still hungry. You gonna let me get some lunch now?’

 


	7. The Seventh Day

Gibbs paused in front of the café counter, taking a moment to look over what was on offer. A loud, disembodied announcement rang out over the concourse, the unfamiliar words cutting across the buzz of conversation in different languages all around him, but no one seemed to take any notice. He guessed it had been a standard warning about not leaving baggage unattended, or leaving plenty of time to clear security; the usual airport language that needed no translation.

 

Aware of the queue behind him, he forced himself to focus on sandwiches and salads.   He really just wanted a coffee, and, looking up at the board, was relieved to see the menu was printed out in English as well as Hebrew. He ordered, paid, and picked up the take-out cup while shouldering his bag, all without really registering what he was doing. His mind was elsewhere. To be precise, it was back at the coffee machine outside the meeting rooms at Haifa port, where Ziva had offered to translate for him on his first day in Israel. He

smirked to himself. He had certainly come a long way since then.

 

He checked his watch. There was half an hour before he was due to board. When he and Ziva had arrived at Ben Gurion, Gibbs had groaned out loud at the sight of the check-in and security queues snaking back towards the terminal entrance, but Ziva had just grinned at his reaction and taken him straight to the front. He could still hear her voice in his head.

 

‘ _It is very tempting to make you wait in line and miss your flight_ , _but then I suppose we would just have to say goodbye tomorrow rather than today’._

A quick conversation with the security official, and Gibbs had been waved through with just a cursory glance at his bag. Now, sat down with his coffee, he pulled out his passport and idly flicked through it. The exit visa, hurriedly stamped onto the page and overlapping carelessly with his entry visa, claimed that he had officially left the country of Israel. But he could still taste Ziva’s lips on his from when she had kissed him goodbye, could still feel her hair against his face and smell her shampoo. When he looked down at his shirt, he could still see her standing in his room that morning wearing it, could still see her smile and the playful expression in her deep brown eyes. He might be getting on a plane, but it felt like a part of Israel was coming with him.

 

Sipping his coffee, waiting for his gate number to be shown on the electronic screens, he tried to suppress a smile as he remembered the meeting he and Ziva had had with Morrow and Eli David that morning. The look of satisfaction on Eli’s face as Gibbs had told them of his decision, compared to Morrow’s look of shocked surprise, and his slightly dazed acquiescence to the conditions Gibbs laid out before him – it made Gibbs wonder whether they had been in total agreement about his suitability and willingness for this new position.

 

_‘Jenny Shepard takes over my team’._

_A shrug. ‘She was our first choice anyway’._

_‘We have final say over the rest of the team here’._

_Eli this time. ‘Of course, your views would be taken into consideration’._

_‘And a six month trial period’._

_Another shrug. ‘If you want one’._

When the meeting was officially over, when Ziva had been dismissed and Morrow left to start dealing with some paperwork, Eli David had called Gibbs back. Gibbs hadn’t been surprised. He had been expecting it at some point, sooner rather than later _._

_‘You are sleeping with my daughter, Agent Gibbs’._

_‘Ziva and I are together, yes’._

_‘Hmm’. A raised eyebrow, a cynical smile. ‘A nice way of putting it’._

_‘More to it than that’._

_A shrewd look, a pause for contemplation._

_‘Is that a reason you have asked for a trial period? So that if mixing business and pleasure does not work......?’_

_‘If things don’t mix I’d rather give up the job’._

_‘Hmm’._

_Another pause, before a nod._

_‘Ziva deserves someone who would do that for her. Take care, Agent Gibbs’._

Gibbs wondered if that was Eli’s way of admitting that his choice of work over family did not always sit easily with him, despite appearances to the contrary. He also guessed that it was the closest Eli would ever come to giving him his blessing.

 

His gate flashed up on the screen. Slowly, he drained the cup and stood up, strangely reluctant to make the final moves towards leaving. His feet carried him towards the departure lounge, joining what seemed like hundreds of other feet all heading in the same direction, obeying his head that was telling him he had to go while his heart was screaming at him to stay. When the faceless announcer made a final call for all passengers on United Airlines flight 140 to Dulles to make their way to gate number five, Gibbs found that handing over his passport and boarding pass for the final time was one of the hardest things he had ever done.

 

He ignored the safety demonstrations given by the flight crew as the plane began its slow taxi towards the runway, and instead stared out of the window at the airport buildings, the high-rise blocks of downtown Tel Aviv visible through the haze. Pulling out his cell phone, he checked it one last time before switching it off. Nothing. But then, he hadn’t expected there to be. She had made him promise to call when he arrived, and he would have to wait until then. The flight time that stretched ahead of him seemed interminably long and, although he was grateful Morrow was staying in Israel an extra day and was not with him, he suddenly wished he had something other than a couple of magazines to see him through the next few hours until he could speak to her again.

 

As he felt the surge of power from somewhere underneath him and felt the aircraft move forward, Gibbs leaned back and closed his eyes. He didn’t watch as they left the ground, climbing steeply over the city and banking hard left over the Mediterranean. He didn’t turn to see Israel becoming smaller and smaller behind them, until it faded into the blue of the sea and the horizon. They were somewhere over the Greek islands before he opened his eyes again and pulled down the window blind. He told himself that the bright, pure light shining in from above the clouds would make it harder to read. Deep down, he did not want to look out and see just how far he was from Ziva.

 

Giving himself a mental shake – he didn’t even have the energy for a headslap – he excused himself to the man sat next to him, and reached up into the overhead locker for his bag. He was intending to retrieve the magazines, but when he opened it, he found a paper bag lying on top of his other belongings that he was sure had not been there that morning. A slow smile crossed his face as he realised Ziva must have put something in there. So much for what he had told the security staff in response to the standard question. _Yes, I packed it myself. No, no one could have put anything in there without my knowledge._

He settled back down in his seat with the bag and the magazines, and, after ordering a coffee and a bottle of water from the refreshments trolley, cautiously opened the paper. When he saw what was in it, he almost laughed out loud.

 

Ziva’s parting gift was a Hebrew phrasebook, a yellow post-it note stuck to the front cover which said ‘ _This may come in useful. Especially pages 59 and 194. Xx’._

Gibbs was still smiling as he traced the ink on the note, imagining her writing it, realising that he had not seen her confident, slightly rounded handwriting before and wondering when she had found the time to buy it. Turning the pages, his grin broadened as he saw what she had picked out for him to learn first.

 

Page fifty nine turned out to be in the middle of the ‘food and drink’ section where, unsurprisingly, Ziva had underlined the phrase ‘kafe shakhor, bevakasha’. When he tried it under his breath, though, it didn’t sound nearly as good as when she ordered for him, and he decided that he should probably make sure that she gave him some lessons on pronunciation. Preferably private ones. Smirking at the thought, he flicked on to the second page she had highlighted, and felt his heart beat a little faster.

 

_Ani ohev otach / Ani ohevet ot’cha._

He didn’t need to read the translation to know what it meant, and he felt a warmth spread through him as he read the words over and over again, committing them to memory, wondering how they would sound aloud, how they would sound when Ziva spoke them. It wouldn’t be that long, he realised, before he would hear her voice again and find out, and the feeling of heady anticipation combined with pure happiness at the thought convinced him, finally, that he had made the right decision.

 

And it would only be three weeks before he was once again on this plane and heading back to Israel – only three weeks until he would see her again and say it to her face to face, in her own language.

 

Until then, he had a handwritten note, and a shirt that still smelled of her, and a memory of her lips on his. And a phrasebook that told him how to say to her that he loved her. Still smiling to himself, he shut the book and closed his eyes again, the words already imprinted on his mind.

 

_Ani oher otach_.

 

Three weeks.

 

It wasn’t really long at all.

 

 


End file.
